Your Eyes
by blood-and-tears-of-a-dragon
Summary: Canada sets out on an almost immpossible mission. to get Russia to smile. No. Not the fake smile that never reaches his eyes. A real, genuine smile. And he wants it to be at him. rated T, because I am paranoid
1. What Canada wants to see

Disclaimer: Do I own Hetalia? No. If I did, I would be supper ritch and living somewhere colder because south Texas is fucking HOT. ( I would also make it rated M, If you know what I mean.) *winkwink*

AN: This is my first fan fic. So please, no flames. constructive critisism is encouraged though. Now, On with the story!

ITS YOUR EYES

Mathew continued to stare blankly at the table as his brother droned on about how his oh-so-mighty 'hero powers'

were going to stop some problem or another. Really, no one was listening and had learned to tune out the over excited America.

Sighing in boredom, Mathew let his gaze wander around the overly crowded table. He dully noted that france was being a pervert again (if the bright shade of red England was turning was any sign).

Italy was clinging to Germany. Said blond man was trying to scrape him off while still retaining his dignaty.

Rolling his eyes, he was about to lay his head down when his gaze ran over someone and stopped.

Russia, as usual, was sporting his overly happy smile. A smile that never quite reached his eyes. This is what always caught his attention.

While most people never stayed in his presence long enough to notice, It always bothered Mathew. Closing his eyes, He tried to visualize what his face would look like if he was smiling.

Not that fake, almost pained smile that was always worn over his mouth. like a protective mask.

Mathew wanted to remove it, more than anything, and see the true one just beneath it. He wanted Russia to smile at him.

No. He wanted Ivan to smile at him.

Mathew re-opened his eyes, and turned a darkening shade of red at the stare that conected with his own.

Ivan could feel the younger nations stare as if it were physical. As if he were insistantly poking the side of his head demanding his attention. And he was surprised.

Being Russia, Ivan was used to being avoided at all cost. The last time someone stared at him, it was because he was about to kill them.

However, this was different. This felt like the stare of someone who was merely curious. Ivan turned his now questioning gaze over to where the staring was comming from, only to find the nations eyes hidden from veiw.

He studied the goldend haired boy across from him intently. Just what was his name again?

Thinking hard, he stared harder at the blond nation laying with his face buried in his arms. Long blond hair? Francis?

A quick glance at the French country down the table rubbing England through his pants instantly squashed that idea.

Then who could it be?

His eyes romed back to the blond just as his head lifted back up. Drawing a breath, he remembered.

violet eyes connected with his bluer ones. Mathew. Canada.

Ivans questioning gaze turned deeper as the smalller nations face started turning a shade of crimson that would rival spains redest tomatoe.

Canadas eyes darted away as the meeting started drawing to a close.

*Shoot!* Mathew yelled at himself mentally as he quickly exited the meeting room. *The ONE TIME someone notices him, and it had to be IVAN!*

Quikening his pace, Mathew despratly tried to put as much distance between him and the other nation as possible without breaking in to a sprint.

To bad his legs are short.

"Gah!" Was the only sound he was able to make as large hand clamped over his mouth, muffling any sound.

Another hand quickly snaked around his torso, dragging him into a nearby confrence room that (to his dissmay) was hardly ever used.

"Now, little Matvey." Said a deep rumbling voice that turned his face a new, brighter shade of red. "Vould you mind telling me Vy you Ver staring at me?"

"Would you mind letting me go first, eh? Your kind of squishing me." He managed to wheeze out before being release.

Spinning around to face the older, taller nation, Mathew tried to come up with a believable excuse.

"I...I was..." He stammered. failing to come up with anything.

"Yes?"

His faced darkened in embarrasment.

"I was wondering," He started timmidly,"if you could smile?"

Ivan blinked. Well, THAT was certainly not what he was expecting. yelling, sure. Cursing, definatly. Questions, maybe. That question exactly, never. Certainly not from a nation as shy as canada.

"Excuse me?"

He heard a deep breath being drawn before the little nations eyes became more determined.

"I said, I was wondering if you could smile."

Complying to the strange request, Ivan let his lips spread into a hesitent smile.

He became acutly aware of Canadas eyes scaning his face and became strangly self-concious under the stare. If there was one thing Russia hated, it was being uneasy.

After a minute of enduring the younger nation staring at his face, Ivan heard a defeated sigh.

Dropping the smile, his face instantly morphed into concern. "vat is vong?"

"Its your eyes." Mathew began in a small voice. "They arn't smiling to."

Now Russia was very confused. His eyes were supposed to smile? That didn't make any sence. He was about to voice this thought when Mathiew started to speak again.

"If you will let me, Ivan, I would like to try to get you to smile." Mathews face was such a dark shade of crimson that Ivan was seiriously starting to think that he might pass out.

"Only if you will let me, eh?"

Gazing down at the other nation in thought, Ivan finally decided what to do.

"Da, a shall allow you, little Matvey."

After all, this could be rather interesting...

AN: Ok. I want your honest opinion. I want to know if this story sucks eggs or not. Your reviews are going to tell me if I should continue or not. I've always been a fan of hetalia, fanfiction, and hetalia fanfiction. Then, today, I just randomly decided to write a fanfic story about Ivans smile. I know its cheesy, but we all have to start somewhere. I just started here. Oh well. Please click that oh-so-beautiful blue button that says 'review this story', because if you don't, I'll cry. (P.S. I am currently looking for a betta. Anyone intrested?)


	2. filler chap

AN: Well shit. I would like to personally apologize to all of my fans for waiting this late to update. I had really only posted that last chapter because I was bored out of my head and I wanted to see what would happen. I really did not expect so many reviews after only one chapter. I will have the next one out as soon as I can. But for now you will have to settle for this "filler chap." untill I find a way around writers block.

Disclaimer: I don't own it. So don't ask.

It has been nine days since the incident in the meeting room. nine days since Mathew stated he was going to try the impossible. And so far, he has been failing.

Miserably.

It's not that he hadn't been trying. He had tried candy, movies, books, diffrent kinds of alcohole, elaborate dinners, sports games, music recidals... you get the idea.

Mathew was getting desperate. So desperate in fact, that he had to use his final fall back plan.

Exiting the car, he made his way up the polished marble steps to the intricatly carved wodden door.

Taking a deep breath, Mathew nervously raised his hand to knock on the door, only to find it open by itself and a surprised blond headed man stand in the doorway.

"_Bonjour_ America," Mathew cringed, "What brings you here on this fine day?"

"I'm not Alf...," Mathew tried to explain, but was cut off by the overtheatrical man.

"Never mind! I know why you must be here! No one can withstand staying away from my beauty for to long! Not even you Alfred,"

*cringe*

"I'm trying to tell you I'm...,"

"...Hoplessly in love with me? I hoped this day would come sooner Alfred..."

*cringe*

" I figured you would finally get tired of _Angleterre _and come to be my lover instead, and I am very flattered Amérique."

*cringe*

"I mean, who would want to make love to someone who has horrible eyebrows like those... though he does turn the most intresting shade of red when you 'play' with him. Honhonhonhon" Francis said in a low voice as he started to chuckle (in his perverted way)

Mathew couldn't take it any more. With his face an indignant shade of red, he raised his voice slightly and said in a some-what louder whisper.

"_papa, arrêtez-vous! Je ne suis pas Alfred! C'est moi, Mathieu!"_

Hopefully, the use of his native tongue would convince him that he was indeed, not America.

everyone knows Americans can't speak french very well.

France blinked, a look of confusion on his face as he studied the young man in front of him. Mathieu? Hmm, where had he heard that name before...

"Ahh._ Excusez-moi_ Mathieu. I should have known you were not that blubbering American. You are much to respectful." France said in a apologetic voice.

"Now what exactly has brought you here to my beautiful country? You did not come just to see me, did you?" France gave him a knowing look.

"_non, papa._ I have a bit of a problem..."

"_oui_, I understand. Why don't you come inside and tell me all about it..."

_ Meanwhile _

Ivan was very confused.

And if you really thought about it, you could understand why.

All of his life Ivan had always been looked at in fear. He is the big bad nation that had to be avoided at all cost. The one that most other nations had gone to war with at least once in there history.

After all, Russians weren't known for there frendliness.

But this time... was different.

In the days that had passed since Mathews little 'declaration' to try to get him to smile 'correctly' he had found that all of his spare time was now consumed by spending time with the little Canadian.

It confused him how much thoughtfullness and care were put into all there activities.

It confused him how excited the other was every time they were together.

But what confused him most of all, was that he actually _enjoyed_ the company.

It now seemed his days were going in a cycle.

1) Get up

2) go with Mathew

3) try to smile (but only suceeding in failing)

4) go home and try to sort out his confused thoughts

5) sleep

6) repeate

And Russia was starting to get a head-ache.

"Vhy? Vhy is little Matvey doing this?" Russia asked himself yet again as he warmed himself by the fire. Turning his gaze to the window, Ivan sighed. Yet another snowstorm was raging outside and Ivan was sick of it.

"винт это!" Ivan swore to himself. When Ivan wanted to get his mind off somthing, there was only one thing he would turn to. Where the hell did he put the Vodca again...

Before I go I would like to thank Aariah for being my betta (even If I did not show her this chapter). I would also like to thank all of you who reviewed (even though some of you possted the same review twice). I would also like to appologize to all of the fluent french-speaking americans out there. I meant no offence. I would also like to put some translations down here for the people who want to read them (curtasy of google translate).

_Bonjour_ -hello/goodmorning

_Angleterre-_ England

Amérique- America

_papa, arrêtez-vous! Je ne suis pas Alfred! C'est moi, Mathieu!-_ Dad/father, stop! I am not Alfred! It's me, Matthew!

_non, papa-_ no father/dad

_oui-_ yes/sure

винт это- screw this


End file.
